Whispers of a Miniature Garden >>soundofsouls<<
Even silence had its own clamor. It could be heavy, or light, or beautiful and fleeting as a path on a music score. Not even complete quiet, which at times felt eerily empty, she liked the ambiance of distant dins and traffic turned white noise, which calmed both the mind and senses for many. It was comforting in a way, the not-quite-silent silence.
On this night the side streets possessed that stillness, only vaguely noisier. Whitlea previously absconded from the bustling avenue in favor of a more peaceful route, the crowds having grown ever so vociferous owing to the fact Christmas fast approached.
The detour actually proved not an inconvenience, rather, a gift in disguise. Off the beaten path, Whitlea discovered what she would deem a secret garden. A small parterre sprawled in front of her, perfumed by the scent of slumbering roses. Intricately carved marble benches lined its periphery, one at each of the four sides. As Whitlea went deeper into the garden, she spotted someone sitting by a planting bed.
She approached quietly and spoke softly.
“Hello there. Nice night, isn’t it? A bit chilly out, but it's so peaceful here. I hope you're enjoying it as much as I am. Do you mind if I sit with you?"
